Emcee's no time out,it's time to rhyme out
  You've dug your own grave,now you must climb out
  Dig out,crawl out,hide from the fallout
  'Cause when I get mad I go all out
  ICE cooler than the coldest cube,dude
  And when I'm micin',boy,I'm know to get rude
  Criminal background,it's time to get down
  I use a silencer,don't like the loud sound
  Off my mic blast,you better run fast
  The last punk that popped junk passed
  Spit on his grave,laughed,jumped in my stretch
  Signed his bitch an autograph
  Syndicate boy,I don't fool out
  You're full grown,school's out
  You try to diss?..I think you better cool out
  'Cause your butt is smoke,if we ever duel out
  This jam is directed,to all of those who expected
  For me to cold be rejected,but now I'm highly respected
  And now their ears are infected
  With dollar signs I've collected
  Jealous punks,I said it!
    Personal
  Take a personal
    Take it personal,punk,I'm talkin' to you
  And if they agree with you,then your crew too
  I never diss an emcee,I wish'em all good luck
  But if you diss me to my face,duck
  My style don't ramble,you shouldn't gamble
  With your grill,I got a fist like an anvil
  I write a record,lock it on the topic
  EVIL and IZ dog the track,then we drop it
  Record stores rock it,stock it,fans buy it
  People that never heard of ICE-T try it
  Then you try to diss? You got gall
  I got gold on my neck and gold on my wall
  Gold in my fingers,gold in my ear
  When this jam's spinnin',gold's what you hear
  Toy,this ain't Christimas,no time to play
  I ain't no child,punk,you'll get sprayed
  Illin' on a mega-villan
  You must want a pine box to go chill in
  Buried deep,creep,no one will weep
  'Cause the next night with your bitch I'll sleep
    Personal
  Take it personal
    I ain't East Coast,West Coast,new style,or old style
  You wanna know about me? Check police files
  Get out my face or you might have a bruised one
  Brass knuckle prints? Yes,I used some
  I ain't here to boast,I don't do that
  When I talk it's straight dope,pure facts
  I rock hard but still called a new jack
  But talk shit,you're sure to get heard cracked
  I don't drink or smoke or do dumb drugs
  But my posse's still labeled street thugs
  L.A.P.D's got all my boy's mugs
  Can't use my phone for the damn bugs
  I live in privacy,don't like suckers hawking me
  News reporters,some think they can talk for me
  Lies,misquotes,changin' all my words around
  But if I catch'em on the street they'll get beat down
  They get money for hype-type publicity
  They don't think twice,about dissin' me
  But that's a mistake,with tha SYNDICATE you shoudn't mess
  I hope those punk reporters wear vests!
    Personal
  Take that personal
    Now the words I speak to some may sound radical
  But I'll explain,it's simply mathematical
  You diss,I diss,this is creates an equal
  You reply to my diss,this is called a sequel
  I reply to your diss,this is called a battle
  Not intelligent,not very adult
  So I don't battle,I just put heads out
  A straight line is always the direct route
  I write lyrics clear,to leave no doubt
  Don't even have to say who I'm speakin' about
  You know who you are,you just jealous
  'Cause you hear my records are million sellers
  Try to say I'm wack,out on the streets
  While your whole crew is jockin' my beats
  See me on T.V. and in the papers
  See me at a jam,and catch vapors!
    Personal